(Should be able to keep up a once-a-week pace, at least for the next few weeks)

Chapter 112: Zalera

To be a Lucavi is to be a creature of stained glass, radiant and immaculate beyond the dreams of ordinary men, a work of divine art and inspiration. And like stained glass, your lucent glory is permanently marked by the dark faultlines that separate your constituent pieces and make your existence possible. Because a Lucavi's life is lifted in fractured fragments, as the legacy of your life is passed like a torch from one soul to another, and though you are united in glorious purpose, the distinctions between your myriad selves remain indelible, and essential.

So Zalera thinks, as a bullet shatters the skull of his latest self. So he thinks, as dim pain reaches his crumbling brain, and his mortal body pitches to the ground, his long katana sliding from insensate fingers. But when his face comes to rest against the ground, the darkness crashing down around him holds only memories—from the same self, no less. The mortal man leading a bold counterstroke into the Hokuten underbelly in Gallione to take advantage of the Thundergod's feinting charge in the north. The mortal man who thought nothing of the arrows that rained down upon him, shattering them with his breaking blade. So deft was his bladework, so powerful his magic, that only a single arrow scratched a shallow line upon his hand.

Only a single arrow, dripped in poison, ended his mortal life, in pain and agony and despair. And these poor children think they can kill him now? The bullet in his skull is a powerful thing, made of hardy alloys and inscribed with Ydoran microrunes, it cleaved through any mortal defense he might have raised before it...but Zalera is so far from mortal now.

Zalera starts to laugh, and his laughter, like his gestalt of selves, is a thing of art. Each laugh is power, invocation, and demand. Each laugh sketches its will upon the air in a wave of violet light. Each laugh enlarges his body, and his senses. He has only taken his full Lucavi form once, and Limberry Palace stands empty because of it.

No, not empty. Full of corpses. Full of fodder. Full of flesh.

He feels that flesh, his flesh, behind him, still driven by sparks of his will to fight and claw, holding the scattered warriors who would dare to stand against him at bay, and as Zalera rebirths himself to slay new enemies, he cannot help but recall his first birth, so long ago: the first two souls who would become the bedrock on which Zalera would be built.

Her name was Lera, gifted with the Devil's Blood just like Malak (Malak, who is alive and well, and that is revelation on its own, how does he still stand?): her brother was Zaland, as gifted as she in the healing arts. In joining their powers, they moved not objects, but corpses: whole hosts of dead men marched to their command, so all who tried to take the kingdom of Limberry would retreat in terror in the face of a never-ending tide of their own puppeteered casualties. Even the vanguard of the Ydoran Empire was driven back to the southlands form which they had emerged.

The vanguard, yes, but not the legions that came after. Those legions had torn apart the seven kingdoms of Ivalice: they had spread their talons across Romanda, and their airship fleets threatened the ancient lands of Doma and Yang. Their vanguard fell, and was replaced with another. And another. And for every invasion Limberry repelled, thanks most of all to Zaland and Lera and their buffer of the walking dead, the Ydorans grew bolder. Soon, the Empire's mages turned the dead to ashes as soon as they rose. Soon, the corpse-strong armies collapsed, their strings severed by Silencers and Swordbreakers. Soon, the Empire's shadow fell heavy over Limberry, and annihilation with it.

But the Ydorans, for all their many flaws, were eminently practical, and they offered favorable terms to their one-time enemy: surrender now, and be treated as a favored protectorate of the Empire, exempt from Tribute, with the full protection of the wealth and power of the greatest Empire the world had ever known. All that was required was the brilliance of Zaland and Lera, and their service in the counsels of the great.

The siblings died in Ordallia, side by side, two more corpses among the fallen. But as they died, their hands clutched at the Gemini Stone, pleading for a chance to seek revenge against a world that had compelled them to a life fighting on endless battlefields for the capricious whims of the powerful. It took a decade before they found another soul to answer their call: a rebel leader in Lesalia, standing among the corpses of her comrades, despairing at the irresistible power of the Empire, wishing for the strength to oppose them.

And Zaland and Lera granted her wish, and were reborn.

That was their first rebirth, but it would not be their last. There would be others who took up the Gemini Stone, and begged for relief only Zalera could grant them. And when they fell, some new soul was added to Zalera's glorious mosaic, ready to answer the call the next time it came. So the Stone passed from hand to hand, and soul to soul, until at last it its way to the side of the Marquis Elmdor where he lay dying at Limberry Palace, the poison rotting his insides, lamenting a world he had never been able to make sense of...

Until he became one with Zalera, and understood the true, staggering scale of history, as seen through the eyes of the many hosts who had preceded him. Celia and Lettie were two such hosts, and how they rejoice to walk in the world again. But their joy is nothing compared to Elmdor's, who has the clarity he has longed for all his life.

So he is laughing again, as the pieces of himself he brought back into the world fuse with him, rejoin him as his rightful wings, because all Lucavi are collective souls anchored to the strength of the Stones but none take quite such joy in their gestalt nature as Zalera does, Zalera who always longed for independence, for peace, and it is so close now, terribly close, and this spoiled child and his idiot friends will not stand in his way.

Zalera, Angel of the Dead, is laughing as his birthing fires fade, laughing as he soars with wings that are his other selves, the myriad fleshes of his resplendent form dancing merrily in time with his laughter, magic and power pulsing through what mortals might imagine are veins. He sees the horror in Ramza's eyes, and he cannot help but laugh harder. Horror is so pedestrian and limited a thing to feel, confronted by the living artwork that is a Lucavi.

But then he sees the white bow in Ramza's grasp, and remembers how Argus has failed him, and a bright, cheery anger joins all his other feelings.

"If you will not serve Ultima in life," Zalera growls (and in saying that name he longs for it, longs for a leader who can compel the world to make sense again, it is so close and they will not be stopped). "Then you will serve Zalera in death."

He sends Celia surging after Ramza, feeding her power and flesh, and she shapes herself into a flurry of spears. Ramza dodges backwards, too slow: two spears splash against the ground in a squishing geyser of blood, but the other four have him pinned-

Agrias Oaks leaps to his side, slashes Wiegraf's golden sword with monstrous force, so a shockwave blasts back the encroaching skin. Celia shudders, pulls back as Lettie leaps to her defense, the "wing" on Zalera's back morphing into a great, crushing hand.

Bang.

A bullet bites into the hand, and Zalera laughs again, laughs and sweeps forwards, slashing out with metal-fingered hands as Lettie reaches out to crush whoever she can find. Ramza tumbles backwards as Agrias rushes to meet him, her powerful blade blasting back even Zalera's slashing hands, and for a moment Zalera admires her, this steadfast knight who has soldiered on against the machinations of armies, princes, angels, and demons alike. It is a terrible thing, that he should have to kill her, and the proud company she keeps-

Like Melia.

A flicker of anger, a flicker of regret, and a flicker of cold determination: even as Zalera rebounds off his sweeping rush, Lettie catches Agrias in her flesh, and begins to squeeze. Agrias' ragged armor cracks beneath her fearsome strength. Soon her bones will crack the same way.

Thoom! A white-hot burst of magic against the joint where Lettie joins his body, as Ramza looses an arrow from Perseus' powerful arc, weaker than any of Argus', but strong enough to rip through Lettie and slacken her grasp, and Agrias tumbles to the earth in a web of skin as Ramza nocks another arrow.

Zalera considers for a moment, as his patchwork flesh roils across his body. He feels the pieces of himself behind him, thinner than before, and not-quite-senses paint a threadbare picture of the battle in the ballroom. Alicia, Lavian, and Rafa are all injured, and Malak, Radia, and Melia (another flicker of feeling) are spread thin defending them...but they might yet win. And if they win before Zalera has finished Ramza outside, he will be caught between them.

Cuchulainn and Belias were careless. Zalera will not repeat their mistake.

He twists backwards, flexing Celia and Lettie, feeding them flesh so they can feed him speed. So fast, so strong, he rips through one chandelier hanging over the dance floor as he hurtles into the room, and the other members of this disparate company are splayed out before him as the chandelier clatters to the ground: Lavian, hunched over at Alicia's feet with her hand on her staff: Alicia, blood running down her face, scouring nearby corpses with fire as Lavian tries to heal her; Radia, standing to one side, drinking the magic from his corpses until they cease to move (danger, dangerous, dangerous); Rafa, slumped against her wall with a half a dozen shallow cuts up and down her body weeping blood...

And in front of Rafa, Malak's flying swords whip through the air besides Meliadoul Tengille, her Breaking Blade shattering Zalera's magic so the corpses collapse forwards, insensate and unmoving. Those two souls threaten Zalera here and now, yes...but they threaten more than that.

Malak is alive, but Malak died on the roof of Riovanes castle. Zalera felt him die, as only Zalera could: as a Lucavi attuned to the veil between life and death that allows Lucavi to exist at all, and as an expert in the connections between the immortal soul and the simple meat that hosts it. Malak was dead, and now Malak is alive, and that means somehow the children have used the Stones on their own, without welcoming a Lucavi into their midst (and how is that possible? Even at the height of the Empire, the people who could wield the Stones without becoming Lucavi were few and far between). This strange band is already horrifically dangerous: they have already felled Cuchulainn, and threaten to expose the Church plot that makes Ultima's rebirth more than a feeble dream. If they can wield the Stones, they can do more than threaten the timing of Ultima's rebirth: they can threaten Ultima herself.

No. Ultima will be reborn. Ivalice—the world—must be saved.

He hurtles into the room, and every head snaps his way. He sees rage in Alicia, Lavian, and Radia's eyes, horrified disbelief in Rafa and Malak's. But Melia's glance lasts only a moment: a bright shock that seizes eyes and body alike, and then an instant pivot towards him, charging at him with her her magic shimmering and her sword raised to strike.

Oh, Melia. Capable child of a capable father, but unlike your brother, Vormav's shadow did not warp you. You are so terribly strong, and I have liked you since I met you. I did not approve of your father's manipulation, but I approved of its result. You would take up Sagittarius, driven by your rage...and when the moment came, you might call out to a divine presence, and be answered. You might be Shemhazai's latest host, and reach your true potential.

A shame, that you chose some other path. A shame that, like Argus, you will spurn such gifts, for futile defiance. A shame, because you are so strong, so brave, and when you crashed your blade against mine I was surprised to see you...and a little proud, too.

But you have chosen the losing side, Meliadoul Tengille.

Zalera raises blade-fingered hands, and wills. Violet light pulses off his skin, and burns beneath the flesh of the corpses all around, and with another pulse each corpse explodes into a heaving mass of bone and blood and skin, flowers of flesh unfolding into brutal blossoms, each petal a long whipping tentacle to tear these children apart. Blackened limbs crash through Alicia's fire, and Lavian pulls her to the ground just before a blade of bone can cut across her throat. Radia rips the magic from one limb, but Zalera feeds it fresh strength from the flower it is tied too, and so it smashes against her chest and the tip digs through her armor, and she screams in pain. Malak ducks, too slow, and one limb smashes him across the temple, so he crumples to the floor: with a scream of rage, his sister throws herself off her wall, rips the limb from the flower, and then the flower itself from the ground, hurling it at Zalera. Zalera catches it, dissolves it, feeds himself with its flesh and its magic, restores Celia and Lettie-

And a sword rips straight through Celia.

Rips through Celia: not just the flesh of her, but the magic of her, connecting her will and her soul to his, enabling them to fight freely as separate entities, not puppets as the corpses were. She twists her fabric to minimize the damage, and Lettie whips to her sister's defense...only to flinch aside, as the same sharp edge nearly splits her in two. Fast as they are, the sword they face is almost faster-

And as Melia lands in front of him, he feels that same strange flicker again, somewhere between pride and rage and annoyance and grief. He raises his hand to strike her-

And hesitates. Because he sees the same mingled emotions in her flint grey eyes.

"Are you...really him?" she asks. "The Marquis?"

"I am," he replies

"But you're also...a demon."

"I have been called a demon," Zalera says, and gambles. "As Ramza Beoulve was called a heretic."

"Then prove it," Melia says.

Zalera shrugs (he needs the moment to let Celia and Lettie restore themselves anyways) and flexes his hand and his will. The flowers cease their writhing, though their bone-tipped tednrils stay close to their intended targets. "They will attack if anyone tries anything," he says. "And that includes you, Lavian Gainsborough."

He can feel the magic building in her, as he can feel it building in Alica. Malak, Radia, and Rafa have taken his cue, and hold themselves still (though the limbs wrapped around Rafa's, and the blade of bone still bured in Radia, may have more to do with that than caution).

"Perhaps there is still a chance to resolve this peacefully," Zalera says, then raises his voice. "That goes for you as well, Ramza Beoulve!"

Neither Ramza nor Agrias answers from their place in the yard. Perhaps they will try to escape with the Gospel and the Stones? No, of course not: they are too noble for that. And besides, he still has guards standing ready at the door.

"If you're not a demon," Melia asks. "Then what do you want?"

"The same thing I have always wanted," Zalera replies, and he has always spoken with one voice, a great rope made of many individual threads, but at this the threads pulled together tighter, many minds and many souls bound not just to a single will but to a single wish. "A peaceful world, ruled with justice and wisdom, where every sacrifice has meaning." Another gamble. "The same as the Church wants. The same as you want."

Meliadoul looks up at him. The mirrored emotion in her eyes is gone. Now they are a deep and threatening grey, like the iron of a winter sky.

"The same as my father wants?" she asks.

Ah, Zalera has seen those eyes before. Those are Vormav's eyes.

"The same," Zalera agrees, and feels victory in his grasp.

Melia nods slowly. "He gave me this sword," she said, waving the blue-bladed weapon in her hand. "And the Stone. He told me Ramza would be coming here."

A flicker of danger.

"Sent me to kill them...or maybe to be killed by them?" Melia's iron eyes flicker up to Zalera again. "You died, didn't you? Before you became...this."

The venom in her voice crackles. She grips the sword hilt tight. "So perhaps I have to follow your path? To welcome this...grotesquerie? A sacrifice with meaning." There is heat in her voice, and heat in her eyes. "Did my brother's sacrifice have meaning, Marquis?"

Silence reigns over the ballroom.

"So who killed my brother, Marquis?" Now grief tears through voice and gaze alike. "Was it you? Or...or was it..."

She cannot bring herself to finish. There is the hint of tears in her eyes, though none fall.

Zalera looks down upon Melia, and feels a moment's regret. She is strong, and wise, and capable. She stares upon a creature out of legend, and treats it as an equal. If she had joined their ranks...

But she has made her choice. Now Zalera must make his.

"It was not I," he says softly, because she deserves an answer, and in the same moment gestures. The flowers of flesh come alive, their bone-flecked limbs whipping towards their targets, and Zalera prepares to engulf Melia with Celia and Lettie, so all her skill will come to naught. He extends bladed fingers that knock aside her blade, he feels her field shudder against his like a moth shuddering in the palm of a human hand, Celia and Lettie are crashing inwards towards her to smash her between them-

Footsteps, behind him. Not near the flowers. Up the broken stairs.

He twists, Celia and Lettie engulfing Melia at his back while he extends his bladed fingers, and sees Ramza loosing an arrow from Perseus. With a laugh like thunder, Zalera sweeps one long limb and smashes the arrow from the air, where it explodes harmlessly. Agrias ducks low, vaults over the shattered stairs with her golden sword in hand, and smashes into the flesh flower barely kept at bay by Lavian's wavering shield. The flower is obliterated in a column of white fire scorching up to the ceiling, but before Zalera can reach for Agrias Ramza is nocking another arrow, and that is quite enough of that.

With Melia still struggling feebly in Celia and Lettie's grasp, her impotent sword clutched by impotent arms bound to her side, Zalera sweeps towards Ramza. The boy drops the bow, finds a rune upon his glove, and looses a gout of flame: with another laugh, Zalera simply crashes through it, healing scorched flesh almost as quickly as it is burnt.

Ramza's sword is drawn in a flash, to try and counter Zalera's clawed slash. He manages to keep the bladed fingers at bay, but cannot resist the force of the blow: he hurls backwards, crashes against a far wall, barely keeps his feet. The balcony prevents Zalera from following him with his whole body, but he wills, and flesh peels off of him in a dozen long tendrils with bone blades at their heads, spearing towards Ramza from one side while Zalera's hand comes slashing in again.

This time Ramza is ready for him, this time Ramza tries to drain his magic as his blade parries Zalera's fingers, and Zalera understands: this must be how he killed Belias and Cuchulainn, using the Draining Blade to steal their strength and turn it against them. A fine ploy, but that will not work against Zalera, he does not waste himself on such gaudy displays, he shepherds the dead for their purpose, distributes his magic along countless avenues, and he has Ramza pinned now, he cannot dodge forever, he-

Steel hands close upon his ankle, and jerk him backwards. The pure physicality of the act surprises Zalera—it is though one of the Workers of the Empire has seized him. Rafa, of course, strong as only the Heavens Fists could be strong, thin scabs patching her wounds together, and behind her Lavian is channeling shimmering light into the wound on Radia's side, and Agrias is smiting another one of his flowers, her path along the room is carved in blackened flesh, but he can see her wavering, she cannot keep up this pace, they are stubborn children but this is almost over.

Malak's swords come flying through the air, straight towards his wings. Zalera strikes them dismissively with one hand, and in that same gesture the flesh on his ankle boils, spits out in a great rope to catch Rafa around the shoulders, arms, and throat, binds her to him, she struggles mightily and jerks Zalera this way and that but she cannot resist, her struggles grow as feeble as Melia's upon his back-

And a wave of magic crashes against his.

Zalera gasps, in all his voices, with all his will. Raw magic is crashing against his, like a migraine in his soul. He twists this head to find the source, finds it: Malak runs across the far side of the room, an open wound upon his wrist, hurling his blood at the flowers, which shudder as foreign magic and foreign will sink into them.

"You dare!" Zalera howls, and tries to bid the flowers attack this interloper, but the ones with Malak's blood on him are not sure whose commands they must obey, they reach for him feebly, hesitantly, and the untainted flowers are too far away, and he sees Malak shudder, feels him shudder from the inside, his power is less than Zalera's, his will is less than Zalera's, his soul is less than Zalera's, this was Zalera's art before he even took the name Zalera and he will show this child exactly who he contends against-!

A flare of red hot magic, at his back. Zalera tries to turn, but Rafa gives another heave at his feet, and even draped in his smothering flesh she is still so damnably strong, he cannot quite manage the turn, his senses reach out and find that Ramza has dropped to the ballroom floor, right besides Alicia, who had stayed quiet with her scepter in hand, gathering her energy, and now both her and Ramza have joined their hands together on her scepter, pointed straight towards his back-

The fire roars out of the scepter, hot and bright and fierce, and Zalera's magic cannot heal the wounded flesh fast enough, he feels parts of him curling and curdling and giving way, there is even dim pain there as he flexes and fights against it, as the fire crashes into the knotted prison Celia and Lettie have made of themselves upon his back. It tears open, and Melia tumbles free.

The agony turns to anger. These children have hurt him. Now he will teach them true pain.

He roars, and that roar is all his fury, and all his power. The flesh that bound Rafa to him boils out in one great heaving surge, a wave of moving skin, and even her fierce strength cannot resist him: he catches at her limbs and loops tight around her throat, and her strength is finally waning as he whips himself around. Melia is gasping and staggering as she feebly tries to cut herself from the burnt flesh still hanging in ropes around her, and Celia and Lettie are twitching their amputated selves feebly upon his back, so Zalera severs the flesh tying him to Rafa and twists backwards, beckoning to his remaining flowers, their substance twining up into the wings upon his back and healing the wounds across his body.

Agrias hurtles towards him, raises her burning sword, and Zalera catches the blade in one hand, smothers the explosion in a geyser of skin, tries to slash her across the face but she is already leaping backwards, swinging another hammering blow of bursting force. Powerful and persistent, is Agrias Oaks, but all of them are dwindling, running out of strength and running out of time, and Zalera closes in upon her-

Feels a draining cut along his flank, pulls Celia and Lettie tight to his body as he spins around in midair. Ramza again, with Radia's red-bladed sword in hand. He is bruised and bleeding, but he is still on his feet, and Zalera has had rather enough of the Beoulve boy now, rather enough of all of them. He will not repeat Cuchulainn and Belias' mistakes: he knows the danger these children pose to him. Long past time he snuffed it out.

Celia and Lettie explode off of his back, two great tides of sinuous flesh sweeping towards Agrias and Ramza. Agrias and Ramza raise their swords, just as planned, and Celia and Lettie feint away from them, as Zalera comes sweeping in beneath them. Agrias has staggered backwards, separating her further from Ramza, and as Zalera crashes towards him Ramza leaps backwards, tumbles against the fallen chandelier he did not see, and Zalera's bladed fingers scythe down and tear tear into Ramza's legs. Ramza screams in pain.

He hurls the boy towards Agrias as she tries to flank him, so he crashes into her armored chest and both tumble to the ground. In the same moment, Celia and Lettie surge across the room. Lavian and Alicia are fighting to help Rafa, while Radia and Malak struggle to help Melia: Radia sees in time, shouts a warning and flings herself into Lettie's path. Lavian throws up a shimmering ward as Celia surrounds them, putting pressure on all sides, threatening to crush them. Radia is trying to drain the strength from Lettie, but without her sword she is not strong enough, and when Malak's swords come slashing in to save her Lettie is plenty strong enough to catch them in ribbons of skin and pull them tight against her bulk.

Zalera snatches the chandelier from its place beside him, and hurls that at Ramza and Agrias for good measure: Agrias, fallen to one knee with Ramza crawling behind her, manages to smash her sword into it as it comes, detonating it in a burst of white force that sends smoking shards of metal scattering across the room. Zalera's chest explodes with bone-tipped tentancles, spearing towards the pair of them-

And every spear freezes in shock, when Lettie dies. Her scream tears through the room, and rings against his soul.

It is not possible. It is not possible. Lettie is not as hardy as him (one of the dangers of detaching her from the larger host of the Lucavi's selves, since it severs her from the larger well of their power), but she was imbued with both skin and strength sufficient to resist a dozen enemies, even ones as powerful as these, but she is severed, her scream is fading, her magic curdling as her soul sinks past his reach, how-!

He whips around, the tendrils on his chest whipping with him, pulling Celia away from the fading magic around Alicia and Lavian. Meliadoul Tengille stands in the rotting ruin of Lettie's sunken form. Her breaking magic shudders around her, dangerous and fragile as a blade of glass, but while her magic is dangerous it is not a sufficient explanation. Then he sees the blood dripping from her blue blade, and realizes: Malak is behind her, fallen to his knees with his hand clasped around the wound on his wrist.

Her Breaking Blade, shielded by his blood. She shatters the magic, while he pours through the hole left behind. That was how they killed Lettie.

That was how they could kill him.

Mortal terror fills Zalera, radiating first from Elmdor and spreading like wildfire to every one of his constituent souls, and he hurls his spears at Melia, not in hopes of killing her but in hopes of distracting her, distracting all of them, he hurls the spears and then bursts towards the still-open doors to the ballroom. Alicia throws a burst of flame against him, and he crashes it through it: a shimmering ward of Lavian's light unfurls before him, and he rips it apart with one hand. The spears he threw at Melia are cut to pieces, his magic withers away inside them, but it does not matter. Have to get outside, have to get out of here, forget about Gospels and forget about Stones, he does not want to die here, he will not die here!

He is almost to the door, when a smoking bundle lands in front of him. He has just enough time to see Mustadio, still in the front lawn, diving for cover behind the caravan. He only dimly hears his warning shout: "Everyone down!"

The explosion is immense and all-consuming: a wall of heat and force slams into Zalera, blinds him and deafens him. He wheels backwards, his long legs catching against the broken ruin of the staircase. The myriad flesh of his body shuffles and shudders, peeling back burnt sections to heal and swimming new skin into place. So many threats, too many threats, he has to be wary, he has to-

Shadows loom through the dim senses of his stolen skin, as they close in around him.

Rafa slams into his legs like a bullet, rebounds and smashes into his chest, and he drives bone spears against her but they shatter against her iron skin, so he tries to catch her around the throat like he did before, but Malak's swords (now dripping with his blood) slash through his tendrils deftly, and when Rafa hits him again he actually falls backwards, Celia twists and churns and scrambles to get him upright again-

And Celia screams, as she is torn in two.

Melia is at his back, Melia with her breaking, blood-drenched blade, she tears a savage wound into Celia and then does it again, again, again, each time Celia screams piteously, and Zalera tries to whip around to save her, but Radia is driving a red-bladed sword into his arm, draining the strength from him, and when he reaches out with the other blade-fingered hand there is a terrible explosion of magic as Agrias cuts into it, and the gleaming hand goes flying across the room, to thud against a wall.

"NO!" Zalera howls, and the howl, just like his laughter, is more than a word: it is a rebuke, and a command, and a will. Violet light burns beneath his skin, explodes outwards: the humanoid form dissolves into a frenzy of whipping skin and shredding bone. Malak's swords are thrown across the room, and Rafa with them: Radia and Agrias fall back before the fearsome frenzy, swinging their swords for all they're worth. The desperate mass of swimming skin surges for the stairs, makes a bridge of itself, he can still escape, he can still survive-!

A burst of magic, at his back. He has just enough senses left to see the source: Ramza Beoulve, kneeling in a pool of his own blood, with Perseus clutched in white-fingers.

The explosion tears straight through his self-made bridge, collapses the staircase even further, and burnt and threadbare as Zalera has become he cannot hold: he sinks into the splintered wood and stone, as pieces of him fleck away to curdle and die. He has so little substance now, and when his black skull looks up he is just in time to see Melia descending like a lance from the heavens, sword already slashing down-

She cleaves through his skull. She cleaves through his soul.

"No!" he cries, but it is not a command anymore, it is only a plea, and there is no one to hear him. "No, I...I was to...to live and..."

His mind is flickering between his myriad selves and their myriad deaths. He lands on the Marquis, spitting and shitting blood as the poison melts his insides, weeping bitter tears for a God who never listened, even to the end. Because he didn't know the truth: if you want God to answer your prayers, you must bring him to Ivalice yourself.

"Ajora!" he screams once more, as the pieces of him give way, sinking down into the depths of Gemini's anchored power, sinking out of time and mind again. "Save me!"

But this time, no one answers.